A Curse from Heaven
by AssassinsAndMercenaries
Summary: Christophe had no idea what is happening with his body when he realizes that God is playing a very dirty one on him, and has even his best friend, Gregory under his control. Christophe is left hopeless of what to do and starts to think he'll lose it.
1. Chapter 1

Warning: Mentions of pedophilia, some blood, some angst I guess but a good ending nontheless. Oh and Christophe being Christophe which includes a lot of obscene words and a lot of hate against god.

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><p>What on earth should I do. Really God, you have outdone yourself. I have found myself to be in the most difficult positions imaginable and got out multiple times and I am still pretty much alive as of now. I have infiltrated in companies and gangs, I have assassinated, I have spied, I have robbed, I even fucking died and returned and I am still pretty much okay. Or at least I was until a few days ago. Fuck you god. Seriously. I never imagined anything worse than being thrown in a pithole with filthy guard dogs. Monsters. But that cocksucker actually did gave me something worse.<p>

Something far worse, something I couldn't just smash my shovel into or spit at or curse at or fight it in any other possible way except for just killing myself. As this nightmare was growing inside of myself. It was a horrid feeling, sending shivers over my body and fogging my mind. It was twisting everything inside of me. It made me weak, it kept me awake during my few hours of sleep, it took away the taste of my food and made my vital organs burn.

And I couldn't do a goddamned thing about it.

Maybe I could, but in the end I couldn't. The monster was protecting itself somehow, it was able to manipulate my own fucking mind to protect itself. I could not lay a finger on the source as it would make my own heart stop, I could not escape it for it would follow me, Even if I could escape, I would not be able to survive without it as I would die from starvation. I couldn't bash it with my shovel, as it would bash my own heart into pieces. It was the worst curse god has ever sent down on me. Stupid bastard.

Trying to kill god was even likelier to succeed than getting rid of the curse on me.

I am so fucking screwed.

It all started 3 and a half days ago, I had just returned from a mission which might have included getting a priest arrested and a whole church closed. The reason behind it was that the priest had abused numerous children, so it was undoubtfully the right thing to do. A couple of rich-ass parents who suspected something had hired us for this job. It went fairly easy, getting an assault on picture (which did greatly sicken me. I have seen someone getting raped before, more than once, but pedophilia was the fucking grossest thing I have ever seen.) and handing it to the police anonymously. It had all been a success and I got back pretty unharmed except for a stupid cut in my arm as I fell quite a lot of feet from a tree upon seeing the act.

No big deal I suppose. But god sure got pissed to have me screwing his sick church parties, so upon getting back home, he put that stupid curse on me. I could have fucking known he would repay me so badly for ruining his fucked up fun. Gregory was wrapping up the last part of the job administratively, I don't know exactly what he had to do, but I guess it were things concerning our money, and informing our recruiters that the job had been taken care of. He laughingly got up as he saw my sweater being cut and seeping red liquid.

I don't know what suddenly happened, where the monster came from, or if it was already there. but it erupted. My lungs felt like needles were stinging inside of them, my stomach felt like it was being punched, but permanently, it just felt awful. My hands started to tremble and I was completely clueless. Gregory didn't took any attention to my sudden stiffness and took of my shirt.

"Really, why do you have to keep on getting hurt, even on the physically easiest jobs? Do you think it's funny to have me wrap you up every bloody time?" Gregory started laughing at his own joke and gestured me to sit down. Stupid English bastard, making silly jokes while I felt awful all of a sudden. Though I never feel weird all of a sudden. I was the feelingless mercenary. I am The Mole. What was I being a pussy for? I took place on the kitchen table, waiting for Gregory to take out everything he could possibly need to take care of my wound with greatest ambition. After meeting him, he quickly turned out to be better with first aid then any silly doctor I have seen in my life. He was attentive, a perfectionist but still quick and smooth. And he knew me.

He returned, with probably more than necessary, I believe the wound wasn't so deep that he would have to stitch it up. The moment he touched my wounded arm, something, it wasn't pain, shot right through me and made me stiffen up again. "What was that? Does it hurt that bad?" Gregory asked, looking worriedly at me. I shook my head fiercely and shut my eyes tight. What was wrong with his touch? Why did I feel it so prominently. Even when he applied the alcohol on the open wound, which really stings like hell I tell you (But EVERY-fucking-THING on wounds hurt like hell) I mainly just felt Gregory's hand keeping my arm in place. Why didn't it hurt as bad?

"et?" I asked, letting French carefreely slip my mouth. Gregory barely noticed my small French words I let slip anyway.

"I'd rather just stitch it up to be sure, if you aren't heavily objected against it. It could heal up fine, but I'm not entirely sure, so I think it's best to just stitch it up for now, you're used to it anyway" Gregory said as he took out whatever he needed to stitch that damn cut.

_This would mean he'd have to touch me longer. _

My eyes shot a little open as I found out what I thought. What the fuck did I think. I hated the feeling of his touch!

"As long as you do eet quickly, merde." I mumbled as I quickly got a cigarette out of my pocket. I didn't have one of those for way too long. That must be why I felt so odd.

"If you don't whiff that smoke in my face I'll be done in no time." I watched him disinfecting the needle with the orange Iodine and cleaning the skin around my wound once more with the same stinky stinging shit.

"Are you sure ze're is no ozzer disinfecting sheet available?"

"There is, but I'm not a legimate doctor, so I cannot buy anything better for you. When did you become such a whiny wimp, Christophe?"

"When did you become a fuckeeng sadist?"

And with a smirk on his face he started to stitch me without answering me further. He most likely took my comment as a confirmation I was still feeling alright. Through the corner of my eyes I studied Gregory whom was dedicatedly working on my cut. His focus and skill were absolutely great, as was he in general. Gregory was a very loyal and hard working partner. Moreover, he was good in the stuff I wasn't good in myself.

My head had somehow drifted off, I didn't really experience pain, I just experienced Gregory. I was solely looking at his concentrated face. I don't even remember what I had been thinking, I only knew I freaked out when Gregory's head snapped up to tell me he was done, and he asked if I'd still like bandages. Not wanting to look to suspicious, I nodded and looked away quickly. I really have no idea how my mind wandered off. My mind never fucking wanders off.

The torture didn't end after that though. It had even become worse. Everything just went a little too deep for me. His touch felt different, his voice struck me more than usual and I couldn't hide it. Somehow my fucking body felt like it was boiling and tangling, my skin felt uncomfortable tight and all I wanted was to rip myself literally out of my body. My eyes were fixed on random objects just to not be confronted by Gregory, which would happen soon enough. During supper to be exact.

Gregory had made something very nice smelling of which the name didn't really get into my head. It was just good smelling, good looking, food made by Gregory. It all seemed delicious up until the point where I had to eat it. It felt as if I had a large chunk blocking my throat and as if I had to throw up at the same time. I didn't remember eating anything during the last part of my mission, or anything which might cause nausea in general happening during the mission. Except for gross sights but any kind of gore wasn't really any problem for my hunger.

It was then that I realized I must have caught some illness.

I poked at my food boredly while trying to figure out any way to stuff it down my throat. It was important to stay healthy as possible so I faithfully ate the diet Gregory had set up for them. Dinner was the pinpoint of the diet. I shoved a small bite into my mouth and started to chew on it endlessly, frustrated that I wasn't allowed to smoke now.

"You're not eating." Gregory stated as he had already finished half of his plate. I didn't look up to his face, I didn't dare somehow, not right now when his voiced pierced this deep.

"I'm chewing, mind your own business" I spat with my full mouth which angered Gregory even further. I really shouldn't look up.

"What's the matter? Don't you like it or is something bothering you?" He asked, a bit more concern in his angel-like voice this time. That fucking voice.

"Second. Now shut eet."

I still heard Gregory sigh hopelessly before he continued his meal. "Try to eat, please?"

"I AM CHEWING I SAID, FUCKEENG BEETCH"

I didn't really knew where that came from. I never really got aggressive towards Gregory. Well I did curse the living shit out of him or threatened, but I rarely yelled or got seriously angry for whatever. Fuck I was acting like a girl on her period. It did successfully shut Gregory up but I only made him more aware _something _was wrong with me.

As I couldn't possibly make it worse, I just stood up and walked off to the small balcony of our apartment to take a damn smoke which directly drove that damn nausea away. With a nice evening breeze and a delicious whiff of nicotine I soon felt a lot better and fucking relieved. I closed the zipper of his body warmer a little higher and swiftly touched the bandages covering up the stupid cut from earlier. It was completely mad. Me. Ill. In any way. I could sleep soaked wet on the freezing forest floor without catching any serious cold. I have eaten from a fucking garbagecan before and it was freaking gross but it never made me ill. That I am still alive is in fact a wonder itself. And now I was losing myself completely. I am pretty certain it was not because of the mission itself, it could be god punishing me, but the mission itself wasn't the reason I am upset or whatsoever.

After a cigarette or three I returned inside and just flopped on the bed. Gregory decided to once again clean them while I was gone and the strong smell of the lavender washing powder stung in my nose once I dropped on them. But it did actually work therapeutic, so Gregory insisted on washing the sheets often with it. I hogged the sheets forcefully even though the smell was so intense but it was a surprisingly relaxing activity. I claimed all of the sheets of our bed. Sucks for Gregory. But right now I was just happy to lie down without any weird feelings. In a mixture of cigarette smoke and lavender I already fell asleep.

It was about midnight when my eyes snapped open again. 23.47 read the alarmclock. The door to our bedroom just opened, so I suppose Gregory finally got to bed as well. I quickly closed my eyes again, pretending to sleep.

I've been behaving odd today anyway, Gregory would fall for my fake sleep.

I couldn't hear Gregory move for a little while. Maybe a minute. I wasn't sure and didn't trust my own senses anymore. I still held possession of all the blankets, so I feared we were forced for any kind of interaction. Gregory finally moved. He walked over to my side of the bed and very carefully placed his a cool hand on my forehead. I needed to control myself a lot, his hand nearly made me shiver. I heard him sigh again as he pulled his hand away. I didn't hear him move after that, so I suppose he was still in front of me, observing me. I kept my breath as slow as I could, inhaling those damn sheets but it helped to keep me calm. Finally he stood up and walked out of the room again. I tensely kept laying there.

Fuck you god. It had to be that cocksucking asshole. It had to be. He was manipulating me. Fuck him.

I couldn't fall asleep for the rest of the evening. Gregory had grabbed another sheet to sleep underneath and didn't bother with me anymore. I nearly went to grab a cigarette again as Gregory usually slept pretty deep so he wouldn't notice, but something stopped me. That fucking stupid weirdness.

It only got worse the next days. I absolutely denied anything being wrong with me and spent more time than usual smoking on the balcony. Yes, I knew I was also making it worse by separating myself and not telling Gregory anything. He was getting worried and kept asking me what is wrong, though not as much as he would normally have, as I did scare the shit out of that pussy by yelling at him. I felt oddly guilty about it. Around 6 in the morning I got up already every day, 'waking' Gregory up in the process who made sure I did not leave the house. He allowed me everything but to leave.

And here I am. The dawn of my fourth day of the torture. I wonder if this would go on, how long did god intend to torture me? I can hear Gregory getting up loudly. My wellbeing clearly affects his sleeping, I'm not sure if I'm happy with that or not. I suppose it is nice of him to be concerned, but I don't know if I want someone being concerned about me. I put the third cigarette of this morning in my mouth, after laying awake in bed for another hellish night I really need a bunch of them to get me even slightly in a better mood.

As far as I can actually have a relative good mood with that motherfucking God spitting on me.

Gregory directly changed our diet when it had become clear I could barely eat anymore. My breakfast was now a bowl of sweet cornflakes in warm milk, which tastes like heaven I tell you. If I would miss something when this curse is gone, it would be this breakfast. And most other meals as well. Though I eat it hunched on the couch with Gregory sitting on the kitchen table, regularly eying me to see if I was still eating.

After this, I will never complain about girls being beetches on their period, as I am positive this was a pretty good comparison. My mind was fogged up completely, focusing on every detail I didn't want it to focus on. My body trembled, my senses were both sharper but weaker at the same time. I can't control myself completely anymore, and I have no fucking idea why, which might be the worst part of it.

"CHRISTOPHE!"

I never noticed Gregory walking over to me, but he was standing in front of me suddenly. I think I didn't hear him? How can I not hear _him?_

"What?" I reply gruffly.

Gregory falls silent again, his eyes lacking their usual powerful and arrogant shine. "Your arm, please let me look at it" his voice sounding very doubtful. It makes me feel bad. Worse. Guilty. I hate his voice, it was too striking.

I would want to reach out my arm, but I again feel too weak to actually do so. My body feels so limp, so the only think I can think of to allow him was nodding and granting him access to my body. My arm was gripped warily, it feels as if he handles me like porcelain now. I'm completely at loss of anything to do.

Fuck. You. Fucking. Damned. God.

Fuck you for making me weak.

Fuck you for making me hate myself for becoming weak.

Fuck you for making Gregory concerned.

I keep my eyes closed as Gregory pulls of the clean bandages from last night and starts to take the stitches out, not saying a word. His hands are the gentlest pair which ever aided me and like I have already said, he knows exactly how to do it for me.

Soon, I feel all stitches being removed from my arm again. I wait for Gregory to wrap some new bandages around my arm but he doesn't, so I try to throw a quick glance to look what he is doing, trying not to start dazing at him. Again. But that beetch is making it fucking hard for me I tell you. I'm still at the side of the couch, giving Gregory access to my arm. That pussy is sitting on the floor with all the aid kits, holding my arm, staring sadly at my face as he held it.

I want to tell him to stop.

_Fuck you Gregory, stop giving me these weird looks._

Though those words just didn't manage to pass through my throat. I'm left to stare back to that sad face. I want to tell that fucking Brit so much, that he's a fucking Brit, that he's a fucking pussy, that he should finish the bandages like the overprotecting, overworrying pussy he was, and ask him why the hell he gave me these weird looks.

Nothing.

"Please, Christophe," Gregory kills the silence upon this room.

I want to shut that fucking voice up. I always wanted to, but now more than ever. He nearly pleas to me and my heart squeezed painfully by the sound. I open my mouth, but again nothing but a freaking pain with shivers.

"Just help me getting your symptoms okay?" Gregory shows me his fake smile, which is still better than that weird look he gave me before, "I'm just worried, because I cannot do anything more for you, so please let me figure out what's wrong. Can you do that?"

"Bien sûr" I somehow manage to mumble. He knows that means 'Of course' anyway so I don't really bother to speak English. French is better and nicer to speak anyway. Moreover, Gregory loves my French.

Gregory's broad smile fades to a honest small smile. "Alright, just let me grab some papers so I can just go through some checklists I've found," closing the aid kit and placing it on a small table, Gregory swiftly walks away to get whatever he needed.

It felt so odd to speak to him again. I honestly didn't speak a word since the first day, trying to evade any form of interaction with Gregory. Which now turns out to have been the right choice. Every fucking thing he did was fucking affecting me. Every. Fucking. Thing. That's why I considered just running away and leaving Gregory. But for one thing, he would try to go after me and probably find me because of my weak state, and secondly, I'm too weak to leave anyway. I am weak. Fuck. Why doesn't this shit feeling leave me alone for god's sake? It somehow feels as if I have a chain around my neck, keeping me here, and it was tight. It is really fucking tight.

He returns. Multiple forms in his one hand. A pen in the other.

"I'm just asking you anything, even if I think I know the answer. Just nod for yes, and shake for no. Because I believe you find it hard to speak?" he asked, scanning the list for that certain question.

Nod.

"Trouble with hearing as well?" _no _"You sure? You didn't react to me this morning, or is that because you're absent minded right now?" _Yes_ "Absent minded?" "Oui, Beetch" with another sad smile he crosses another box. I don't know why I was cooperating. "Trouble with language in general? As in, do you find it hard to understand sentences or to make them?" _No. _He grabs a short, thin straw and keeps it in front of my eyes. I just look angrily at him. "I'm trying to help, Mole. Jeez. Well, can you see sharp?" _yes _"Are you able to focus on one thing?" _… No. _

As he further questions my sensing abilities, I can already see where this was going. Gregory was losing hope at my painful answers, as I can imagine the likely result of my answers could mean a very, very bad brain-sickness-problem-whatever.

"That's it, okay, give me your arm, I'm going to check basic things like heartbeat, temperature, bloodpressure…" I wish Gregory would stop talking. His voice fucking hurt. And he was scaring me by telling what was wrong. It actually scared me. If that bastard would just leave me alone-

I'm scared. All these things piercing through me, all these realizations, Gregory's fear and my own. What kind of fucked up scene did God throw me in.

And why did he have to hurt Gregory along with me?

"Fuck.." I hear Gregory mumble, which made my heart throb even more painfully. Gregory never says fuck. Never. "It is all too high, Christophe… We maybe should really call an ambulance, or at least go to a real doctor."

"Non" My voice sounds cracked up. Damn. "You're 'elping me, Gregoree. Just go on," I don't want any-fucking-one else near me, as if this alone wasn't humiliating enough.

"Trouble breathing?" he continues obediently, with as much difficulties as I had. _Not really, something like it. _I make a doubtful face to make him ask similar questions. "Can you take deep breath?" Y_es, _"Both through your nose and mouth?" _Yes,_ He scans the list before coming up with it, "Does it… Hurt?" _Yes_ I nod sadly. And with a huge sigh he also crosses that box. "Please don't tell me more things hurt?" _Yes. _"Now you fucking tell me?" I see Gregory getting more desperate by the second. "Headache? Please indicate how much as well" _I put four fingers in the air. _"Pain in your upper stomach?" _six or seven_. "Lower part of your belly?" _Five. _A little sigh of relievement passes Gregory's lips. "Do your muscles hurt anywhere?" I think a little, nearly indicating my heart but I couldn't. So I shake no before making clear I had shivers.

My heart only starts to throb more as I denied the pain.

"Does that cut hurt abnormally?" _No. _"Am I missing an internal pain?" _No, _I lie. "But you eat bad. Can you indicate which organ troubles eating?" _I indicate my throat to around where my stomach is. _"Nauseous?" _Yes. _"Did you throw up?" _No. _

Gregory looks really desperate, though he slightly smiles as my last answer was not bad. I would like to have thrown up though, if that would make me feel better. But right now, I really doubt if whatever-I-might-have is anything curable. Gregory holds on tighter onto his pen and inhales deeply again. _Please don't ask. Please not. _

"Chris, you're blood pressure is high and your heartbeat rate is too high as well, do you feel anything else wrong with your heart?" I feverishly shake _No, _while my heart was screaming yes throughout my body and I cringed at it. "CHRISTOPHE HONESTLY. SHIT. DOES IT HURT?"

I pull up my legs to push my face between my knees to not face Gregory anymore. I pull my legs closely to my body as the pain only got worse. Fuck you god. I fucking damn hate you. I would have grabbed a knife to fucking pierce my heart if I had any control over my body right now. It's throbbing against my chest so painfully. The only thing I could do was push back against my ribcage, or hit it, or try to tear through my skin with my fingertips. But it never stopped. It was piercing in my ribcage and I realized I had begun to sob. "Oui. C'est douleureux."

"Christophe, you need to get to a fucking real doctor!" Gregory desperately rips my arms away from my legs and forces me to sit down normally again, his hand resting on my racing chest. "I cannot help you, honestly, and you are really sick, Christophe…" I keep my eyes shut tight, trying to just ban Gregory out of my mind, as he made it worse. His hand on my chest made my heart race even harder than before and made my blood boil more and more. I want him to be gone. Leaving me all alone with this stupid throbbing heart god has given to me.

This was all too confusing for me.

As I open my eyes again, I see Gregory, like expected, right in front of me, doing the last I expected him to be doing, sobbing. "I cannot help you, Chris"

"IT FUCKEENG 'URTS, STOP ZAT!" that makes two times I yelled at Gregory. But this time, instead of pushing him away I pull him on my lap completely and I scream out in his shoulder in agony. Gregory embraces me quickly and allowed me to muffle my own screams in his shoulder. Somehow, it actually made it easier for me to calm down. I have no idea for how long I have been going berserk, but it was enough to leave me crying for another few minutes, before falling down exhausted in Gregory's arms completely. That bastard was going to die if he would either start laughing at me now, or use this against me later (which he unfortunately did, the latter.)

To think there'd be a moment I'd really hate myself. I'm really awful.

Gregory is luckily wise enough to know he shouldn't say anything. Not like he would be able to anyway. He just keeps on holding me tight as it seemingly really calms me down. I expect he holds me because he might be afraid he might fall apart himself if he lets go. And so would I, I think. I don't want to try out. I honestly just want to be held. I have to trust Gregory. If not him, who else can I still trust.

Though I still don't want him to suffer. This is my freaking curse, not his.

Or me making him miserable was all a part of god's plan to ruin my life.

That fucking asshole should get a life and some more bitches to get his balls licked.

My body rests limply against Gregory's, my head resting on his shoulder. His heart was racing as well now, and his breathing was quick. Quicker than it should be. His hands claw rougher unto the shirt I've been wearing for 4 days already and I feel a cold wet drop slide onto my forehead. "Don't fuckeeng cry" I say hoarsely. Oh really. What is my body freaking out for? I am the Mole. I am a mercenary. And I'm damn fucking good at it. I keep my cool. Always. Under every damn situation. Well I might be a little out of myself when guard dogs are around, but this is fucking ridiculous. This is really fucking bullshit. And now I'm being some pussy, and I just fucking cried and screamed in front of that pussy, and now I make him cry-

This is fucking bullshit. Absolute. Fucking. Bullshit.

But though it might be bullshit, I wipe away the tears from Gregory's face, as he obviously didn't seem to let me go anytime soon and also, for this one time, I hold him as well. It just feels oddly calming. We stay in place. The old fashioned clock our livingroom indicates it's already 8 am already. And even though we just got out of bed, we go to sleep on the couch. Neither of us really slept the past days and we finally had a little kind of comfort now.

Around 1 in the afternoon, Gregory wakes me up again to my displeasure. Really. Why doesn't that asshole permit me some long awaited hours of sleep. "What was our first mission this year?" He hastily asks me.

"Pourquoi? And why did you 'ave to wake me up?" I sound somewhat less cracked up as I did before the nap though.

"Answer me, now."

"Let's see, zat was in Czech, Liberec, zere was some guy in zat tower on a mountain robbing skiing tourists and raping some of zem, and 'is name… I 'ave no fucking idea! It was fucking boreeng, I only remember zat you are terrible at skiing!" I snap. Why did he need me to remember that, he was the one who made reports of everything in his freaking large documentary.

"Fiala. Tomas Fiala." That does ring a bell. "38 minus 25"

"What is wrong wiz you, you do ze zinking!" My heart was picking up pace. Again. "Zat's.. 13"

"I'm just checking if your brain is still completely working. Sit up straight." Whatever. I sat down upright on the coach again and the bastard tried the trick of hitting a nerve underneath my knee, making my leg jerk up. "How's your concentration doing?"

"'ow should I know! I just woke up!"

"Sight, hearing, breathing, heart?"

"Acceptable, fine, fast, faster."

"Doing better or worse than earlier today?"

"Better."

Gregory walked away, to the table to sit down behind his laptop again, not paying any more attention to me. He just starts his laptop to do some of his stuff like there was nothing at all going on. Maybe I should get myself some sheets or something, it isn't particulary hot in our apartment and I feel slightly feverish. Though I don't want to stay in bed all day either. Or on the couch, or underneath the bed, or in another place where I'm able to curl up into a tiny miserable ball hidden in covers. That would not possibly make me feel any better.

So I take a shower. An uncommonly long shower in order to get my thoughts away and working on any way to keep my mind going on. But anything consisted of going outside of our apartment, and not just the balcony. I didn't have any 'hobby's' inside. Nothing. I don't clean, I don't cook, I don't read, I don't play any games, I don't puzzle, I don't sing or make any other form or music, I dislike seriously listening to music, I have no shows I like to watch (except for CSI and that shit, but I don't feel like watching any of those shows somehow). Maybe I could draw, it doesn't sound as utterly boring and strict as any of the other standard hobby's. and that's really all I can come up with during that half hour I let the hot water make my body boil comfortably.

I cut off the hot water as soon as I'm done and stand underneath an iceclold stream of water for another few seconds, just so I wouldn't get cold after getting out. I quickly dry my whole body and put back on the grey sweater and sweatpants I have been wearing ever since this shit begun. For this one time, I even put effort in drying my hair. If I have any kind of flu or cold, I am not going to make it worse myself.

Upon returning to the livingroom I am faced with the surprise of Gregory's backpack being packed, his laptop shut off, a few other devices in the house including all phones lying on the table next to the laptop, all shut off, and no sign where Gregory was.

His shoes were still here. All of them. So he was inside.

What the fucking hell was going on.

The answer fell directly into place right when I found Gregory. It wasn't hard as our apartment wasn't really that big, but I find him standing on our balcony, doing the thing I was doing nearly nonstop for the past days. He smokes. He isn't wearing his orange shirt anymore, he wears a neat black one, a few tints darker as his usual pants which lost a little of their color apparently. The whole scene told me directly what was going on. He is about to leave.

Which is odd, as he never told me about a new mission we'd have to do.

On my bare feet I walk up to him, shivering slightly. The bastard didn't look up but just kept leaning on the fence, focused on _my _cigarettes he was smoking. Not that I am in the position to complain, as Gregory does the financial stuff and buys me the cigarettes. But they're still mine.

"You took long enough" Gregory says after finishing 2 whole cigarettes, though I'm sure he smoked some more while I was still inside. "I assume you feel a little more better now?" His voice is too serious. I just hum through my own cigarette I had claimed. "Sorry for saying this on short notice-"

"Short notice" I repeat him sharply.

"I didn't have a choice okay? I am certain enough you are not going to die from whatever-you-might-have, so I'm doing the safest thing now. It should take me about 3 days including some sleep." Gregory says, still not turning around. I fucking hate his serious business attitude, especially when it's _against _me.

I try to inhale the smoke as deep as I can to keep myself calm. I am really clueless what's fucking wrong with my whole chest. My heart was racing so ridiculously fast, "What ze fuck are you going to do anyway?"

"You didn't figure?" Gregory suddenly turned around, eyeing me suspiciously again. "Fuck, let's hurry then, I'll fill you in, I thought you were thinking straighter, Sorry." Gregory directly throws the half-smoked cigarette away and took mine as well and gestured to get inside again. "You do remember that case in salt lake city we once had, and that Austrian guy who kept in touch with us for some cases here? He really wants us there. The job details aren't essential for you, but I'm doing it all. I told him we weren't able to do it because you were working on a longer job this time which wasn't abortable in this state, but you know with whom we're dealing. He has threatened to sent some people here to help us make up our minds, but I don't want you to get any trouble now so I'll do it. You are supposed to be on a mission yourself, so I put off all communication sources so they aren't able to get to you meanwhile. I have my cell on, though, so you don't have to worry about anything. Just grab one of the emergency phone-cards if anything is wrong. Do you still have my number memorized?"

I hate to admit that it actually took me some additional seconds before I even registered everything he just said to me and to recall his number, I open my mound to recall it out loud but I luckily catch Gregory's glare in time before I ruined his number. I'm not allowed to say it aloud for some obvious and paranoid reasons I came up with myself. "You zink you can 'andle it yourself?" I ask him then, hoping to talk him off it. He couldn't just be going 3 days, fucking beetch.

"I have to, we never got to try out my skills solo on the field like this, have we? It's always either you alone, or me going with you. But we will find out, I'm very well prepared, Mole." He walks away meanwhile, to the hallway and grabs his own pair of combat boots. How do I stop him? Fuck you God, why am I not able to stop him?

"Take me wiz you-"

"No."

"If I'm dying 'ere you will not be 'ere in time!" I try. It's ridiculously dramatic and unlikely to happen, but I feel like resorting to being this dramatic. I just want that asshole to not leave.

"You may call 911 if you're dying, I am still not a doctor." He wraps the scarf around his neck.

"You don't fuckeeng care?" My body nearly lungs itself at Gregory to pull him back and to keep him here, but that just went too far. I'm not that weak and pathetic. Though it would keep him here if I can't control myself. But though that motherfucking god turned me into something remotely close to a girl on her period, I am not fucking going to lose my dignity.

"Please Mole, don't make this any harder than it already is. You have foodsupply which should last 5 days it you would eat very much, but right now I think it could last over a week if you keep eating as little as you do now. There's some good stuff in the fridge, you've gotten enough cigarettes, and just so you know, I took two packets. I know you count them." If anything was wrong and Gregory was under pressure, he would suddenly smoke pretty much. Not as much as me, but still uncommonly much.

"But-"

Where did all of the things I need to say go? What did I want to scold him for? How do I stop him?

"I'll be back in two days around 8 in the evening Mole. Don't get out of the apartment. Sorry."

I can't remember when he put on his coat, but he had it on already and closed the door shut and locked it. No goodbye. He just fucking left. For three fucking days. I stare at the door for that-fucking-god-might-knows-how-long before I lost it completely.

* * *

><p>AN: I'm already working on the second part, which is also the last part already. as I'm not yet satisfied with the ending, but I wanted to upload around half of it already so you can tensly wait until the final half is up with all the angst I warned for at the warnings at the beginning of this chapter. But yeah, It will eventually all be alright, though it takes our little stubborn french mercenary quite a lot of effort.

Thanks for reading so far!


	2. Chapter 2

I felt so clueless of what to do. Absolutely clueless. How was I supposed to bear with my own cluelessness? What do I do while I'm alone now? I can't even register my own movements or feelings. I just felt like a bubble about to burst. Or a storm. And it felt stupid and dramatic but I can't really tell my body to just behave otherwise and to contain itself. It wasn't my mind who was just messing with me, it was my whole body. It was my body unable to function properly, it was my body freaking out, hurting and going wild.

In those whole three days, I didn't touch any food, didn't take a single smoke and destroyed a pretty old antique table which turned out to be really fragile, and tore apart all pillows on the bed. The pillows were on purpose, though it didn't make me feel any better. I had hoped it would relax me a little to tear something apart, but it didn't help at all. Only tearing myself in two would help, but I wasn't about to do that. How the fuck was I supposed to do that anyway.

I felt like I was dying. And I wouldn't have complained if it actually happened. God really was playing a dirty one on me. I was starving and was too weak to get out of bed.

He even took Gregory away.

There wasn't really much else I could lose.

Just my sanity, but that would only make me feel better. I might not be _me _anymore if I really lost my mind, but the thought of the pain leaving was perfect. But God wants me to suffer. That fucking bitch. I made myself lose my dignity the first day when Gregory was gone, the fourth day of my torture. I had cried. I believe I even screamed. I aggressively made my way to the bedroom to break down there, breaking the said antique table on my way but sparing all of the electronics. I didn't get up once I broke down on the bed.

Who needs freaking sanity.

That person can gladly have whatever sanity I may have left.

I need nothing. Just a freaking cigarette which was laying too far away from me and someone to just rip my heart out directly.

The other things which had crossed my mind during those three days are really too awful to ever admit.

Upon Gregory's return, which turned out to be 10 past 8 on the third evening, like he promised he seemed to think it was all still alright. The house was still standing and the only indication I wasn't feeling well was the broken table. The door to the bedroom was closed.

I can't help but to curl into a ball underneath the sheets of my bed as I hear him open the door, put off whatever he wore and making his way into the house slowly. It was torturing, the slow manner in which I could hear Gregory walk inside, sit down on the couch, probably inspecting the room, standing up again to take a look in the fridge. I hear him open it, followed by some sort of moan to which I unpurposely cringe.

The door of the bedroom opens. Painfully slow I hear his footsteps coming closer. I have been trembling non-stop all the time. The pressure on the mattress shifts and soon I find myself to be wrapped in Gregory's arms slightly. It feels as if he was afraid or wary to get close to me, and very upset. I'm certain about him being upset.

"Christophe, Chris, are you alright? Can you hear me, Chris?" He sounds like you would expect an English pussy to sound after a most likely exhausting mission, playing with the edge of your life, smoking more than usual and mentally breaking down upon getting home to sound. Which was just the case.

I'm unable to make any sound distantly intelligent. Just a cracked whine. I didn't drink these days.

Gregory directly turns me over to my back and studies my figure for a little while. The body I started to hate. He walks out quickly and returns with exactly what I need, a bottle of fresh water and a cigarette. I am pulled up by him and supported by his amazingly perfect body. With great care he put the bottle to my lips and lets me drink a little before handing me a cigarette which I greedily smoked.

Fucking body. I honestly wanted to die the past days. But God just kept me alive to let Gregory return to keep me from dying. He was so messing with me. Fucking cocksucker.

"Chris, we're safe" Gregory says weakly when I'm halfway with my smoke. Something inside me twisted again, though it wasn't as bad as before. The water and nicotine actually made me feel very slightly better already. But Gregory's words were hitting me like lies. In his eyes we might be safe, he might have taken care of that fucking mission but God was still there, ready to launch one of his other plans to make my life miserable.

"Chris," It's really starting to get my attention how often he is calling me that now, he usually calls me Mole if he feels like Christophe is too long (It's just 2 syllables, though the Brit often formed a third one behind it. Beetch.) "Really, Chris, I'm so sorry, Christopher" That's what I meant. Though I don't really follow where he's going with calling me the wrong name all the time. It doesn't feel good.

His arms pull me closer. I suddenly notice the bandages, a few plasters and bruises. I want to crawl closer up to him and scold him for getting hurt but as I put more weight unto Gregory's chest I feel him stiffen in pain. "I've been in some hand to hand combat, part of the job, I knew it" Gregory says in order to sooth me or something. "Our employer wrapped me up when I returned to get the money"

I hate his voice. Especially like this.

I hate his attitude and working style.

I hate his fucking hair and that stupid Christian Cross resting on that fucking chest.

I hate Gregory. I fucking hate him.

"Christophe"

I hate his attempts at French because it sounds like shit.

"I love you"

My heart squeezed painfully. Very, very painfully. It was so sudden and so direct, it hurt like hell. It felt as if those words killed me. Like a dagger souring right in my heart. My heart breaking like glass. Everything inside me, hit by a bolt of thunder. It burned as it all soared through my body. My breathing got more rapid and painful. I pulled myself in a tight ball. I hope I didn't truly shatter apart. That would be so painful.

It had to be so, Gregory was some angel. Some fucking minion of that cocksucker, sent here just to torture me more. To creep into my life and wait until the time was there to let down this curse. Gregory made it worse. If I were to lose my sanity alone, what would it matter? But now I'd hurt Gregory. Or he made me think I hurt him. But throughout these years I did form some bond with him. I trust him. He's a fucking bitch-ass pussy, I hate him, but I trust him. It's far too late to change that. I can't stand seeing him hurt though. Be it from combat, or be it me. The thought made me want to rip my body apart even more.

"Chris, I'm so sorry, I really am, I don't know what the hell is wrong, but I'm sorry for every single thing of it. Christophe, it was so hard to leave you for these three days, but they would've come here to beat our senses if I wouldn't have gone. So I did, to protect you somewhat. I don't want to think of what would've been the alternative. I really was bloody scared, It's so different to do a job alone. But I had to do it for you, which made me feel stronger but also miserable at the same time. And like I said… I love you. If you feel better, please hit me for that. Or better, beat me up for it, since I deserve that. I couldn't keep it to myself anymore, now you're so sick…"

_Sorry… Protect… Scared… Stronger… Miserable… Love… Sick… _

I try to let the angel's words sink. He keeps silent, respectfully. He feels sorry. He should. He wanted to protect me. Apparently. That was harder to imagine, as I was so hurt. And scared like him. "You care" I mumble. Why he felt stronger was harder to figure out. As was his feeling of miserable. Being all protective made him proud and stronger I suppose. And he might have been proud to do a solo mission. But miserable was once again because of me. Just like he had been scared. Okay. But 'I love you' made my insides twist. Gregory. Loves. Me. I understood why he said I could beat him up for that, it could ruin our partnership. And he said it because I was sick.

I feel like I'm missing a piece of this fucking puzzle. God must've taken it. Just like he made this fucking complicated puzzle, he made sure I'd never figure it out, leaving me clueless, tortured and incomplete.

"I care about you, yes." Gregory says silently.

I'm more scared then I should be, but I'm afraid he was lying to me. I should trust him. But he's sent here by God. He's part of the damn joke. "I 'ate you," I bring out. His two gloved hands grab me tightly, trembling. I should trust him. I should believe this fucking lie, as it's better for me probably. "You goddamned angel, I know what you're up to."

I do hate being paranoid, but paranoia isn't something you can just stop being.

"E-Excuse me?" He was most definitely an Angel.

"I know you're plan. I know eet. And I'm not going to let you succeed in eet." That last one was a lie, but Gregory would take it. "You're a fuckeeng Angel, God sent you 'ere to fuck my mind up! Zat Cocksucking douchebag sure might 'ope zat I put all my fuckeeng confidence in you, so when 'e 'as cursed me, which he just did, you could make me feel worse and worse and fuck my mind up even more! But you can forget zat, I only used you Gregoree! I don't give a sheet about you." I couldn't, and didn't, believe what I just said. But this was just self protection. I need to get rid of Gregory fucking with my mind. I force myself to sit up straight again, instead of crawling into a ball to give my words more strength.

"H-Hold on, just hold on" He escorts to being miserable. "You seriously believe that?"

"What?"

"That I'm an _angel?_"

"_Oui._"

"And that god sent me to… harm you?" How polite that bloody angel is.

"Oui, your plan was so obvious; it makes me doubt ze tactics you made for our missions."

Telling him his tactics sucked ass was the second worst thing in the world to tell him. The first one being something related to his Britishness.

"You seriously believe in Angels Christophe?" his voice doesn't sound as hateful or angry as I expected. No, it was pretty light, cheerful and bemused. Fucking angel.

"Aren't you angry I saw through you're pazetic plan?"

"Oh damn, you are serious!" he calls out. Does he think I'm stupid or something? "Chris, if I were an Angel,-"

"-You are, just admit it, heavenfilth!-" I feel so fucking pumped up, and it hurts to fight with Gregory like this. That bitch has really gotten a too good grip on me.

"-god wouldn't have sent me to make you feel worse."

"I know what you are doing! And you're doing it right now! But you're not getting me!" my heart cringed so painfully.

"What am I doing according to you?"

"'urting me, you're like pinching my heart, and ze rest too, and you make my lungs sting, evereezing, you did it. But you're not fuckeeng bringing me down, you know I'm tough"

I'm not tough though. Gregory pulls me closer to his probably-injured chest and I let myself fall unto it. I don't know why but Gregory did make me calmer somehow.

It was so fucking obvious he hurt me and comforted me with those stupid angel powers he must have, just to push me around. Why couldn't I resist the comfort he gave me?

I decide to not call him Gregory anymore. Gregory was the one I trust. I don't trust an Angel, so that's what I'll call him from now on.

The Angel plants a magical kiss on top of my head which send a nice warm feeling through my spine. I could feel the sadness of my old-friend though. "Christophe, really just think about it. Firstly, I'm not an Angel. But to fit into your story, even if I was, I'd still be some sort of person right? And I'm on earth. I wouldn't try to make your life miserable, Chris. God loves all, you as well. And alright, if you want to believe he screwed you up, that would be a reason for him to bring me to you to make it all up. If god sent me, it would be to do that. And that is what I am attempting to do. And even if god would disagree with me helping you, he can go and fuck himself, and rip my wings of or something, but I'm staying by your side. If you really want to believe I'm an Angel-" he pauses, to smirk probably, "I'd be your fallen angel. I told you before, I will go to hell with you. Eventually. Angels don't lie, Christophe."

"Sheet," with that last one, the angel got me. An Angel wouldn't lie all those things. But my explanation had to be wrong in that case. Either Gregory was a lying angel, or I was wrong.

Well shit.

"Sheet" I say again. "Zen what ze fuck is going on, if I 'ave to believe you?"

The angel kept me in that relaxed aura, humming lightly in wonder. "Christophe, I don't know. But you shouldn't hurry so much, you'll make wrong conclusions. Like saying I'm a bloody angel. Really. Did you ever see an angel beating the living shit out of others?"

"Ze whole Christianity sucks balls anyway, your fucking kind fucked up others plenty of times! Beating some bad guys must be no problem for an angel, certainly if it would 'elp you wiz your filzy goals. Besides, you're using your powers right now, so why ze fuck would you still deny it. Just stop denying, you're probably not allowed telling out loud you're an angel, so I won't ask you to. But it is damn obvious. You look so freaking beautiful, that must be because you're an angel, because the English are normally ugly, and your voice, and your touch-" I should stop there. This sounds so embarrassing. Though I couldn't help it, could I? Against an angel?

"Christophe" I hear his sweet voice whisper in my hair. He was nuzzling my hair, sniffing it lightly. I hate him. I hate how he drowns me. It was wonderful to have the pain taken away, but my body still was lost thanks to that bitch's minion. "Christophe" he repeats, followed by a chuckle I couldn't identify. "Right, I won't deny it then."

"What does zat mean?"

"I don't know, I was about to ask you,"

I stroke his arm softly, feeling his skin underneath my fingers. I don't know what to ask him, or how to ask him, as he must be prohibited to tell me anything about being an angel and all that shit. "You don't 'eal" I say after a short while. It would make sense if he did. "Why not?"

I hear him swallow. "Eh, well, I said I promised to go to hell with you, right?"

"You 'aven't got zat power anymore?"

"Nope." He sighs again hopelessly. "You do really believe everything I tell you?" I nodded, making him sigh again. "You moron, you do believe very strong for someone who hates god you know."

That's what he usually calls stubbornness. "Of course I do, my 'ate would be meaningless if I didn't. Zat would be stupide."

"Are you even aware what kind of _cute_ things you're telling me right now?" The angel whispers giggling a little. "I love you, I most honestly do," his hands unsurely brush my arms, I didn't see why he even did so as he was still wearing those gloves (but I wasn't allowed to complain as I have a number of habits the angel considered annoying as well)

But what did he just say? What would it mean, that he, a messenger from god, loved me? He did betray god for me, which did really prove some kind of great compassion I guess. He did throw his life away for me. Whatever life an angel might have. And something so close related to god must take love serious too. Fuck, that really meant he must love me a lot.

I don't want to resist. I don't want to fight now. I will just kill myself later when I regret this, but the angel made me feel way too good. Every pain turned into warm tingles. Enjoyable tingles. The angel is mine. I love this hot feeling. I turn around numbly on the angles lap and face its blue surprised eyes.

"So, what's your next move?" he asks me, suddenly completely calm. It must be relieving for him to stop hiding his act of hurting and pleasing me. He didn't need to be concerned about my health anymore. His voice is more challenging, his eyes luring me closer to him.

"Fuckeeng angel," I hiss, and he closes his eyes blissfully. "You belong to _moi, tu comprendes?_"

Before the angel could answer me, I throw myself on it. I lock my lips with his slightly chapped lips, I wasn't sure if I lost control of myself because I have become this weak, or if the angel somehow made me lose my control. My hands slip behind his back, I can feel the bandages covering him. I somehow enjoy being this close to him. I wonder why I never noticed anything indicating torn-off wings, which should be the case. My body melts into the angel's, I needingly let my tongue slip into his mouth, his bruised body jerked up against me but I ignore it. It felt so freaking good, and I didn't even know what I was doing. My body was nearly acting completely on itself.

I end the kiss to dig my face into the angel's neck as it felt like I was burning. Instead of the sharp pains from before, my insides were burning in a somewhat comfortable matter. Why did an angel make me feel like burning? Wasn't that what something from hell should be doing?

"Christophe, I'm gladly yours," he whispers with his beautiful voice. I automatically grab tighter unto his shirt. _Mon. Mon. Seulement. _"B-But alright, it's really hard to explain this to you like this, but I'll still try to tell it according to your theory. I'm kicked out right? I lost my wings and all that shit, and I don't have any powers either. None. I am not doing anything to you _magically _you know…"

"You are." I reply stubbornly. Or strong-believingly, what he apparently likes to call it now his cover is gone.

"I am not. I cannot prove it to you, but I am unable of any kind of magic,"

"You fuckeeng prove the opposite all zis fuckeeng time! I can feel it in every single of your touches, angel!" I spit back at him

"Christophe, you believe I am, or I was, an angel, don't you?" I nod fiercely. "Then why do you keep yelling that I'm lying, while I can't lie?"

"Like I know much about fuckeeng angels! Maybe you are able to lie now God fucked your life too-" I notice that my arguments were getting really weak so I quickly shut up. I hated all these complications.

"Christophe, look at me. First, will you please call me Gregory again?" he asks me. I obey to the angel's first request but shake no to his plea for his human name. "Please, I'm... _still_… Gregory"

"Not for me,"

His expression seems hurt. "I have no magic. But you have feelings, and I'm pretty sure it's just that what's bothering you-"

"I 'ave not. Zey are for ze weak." _Sheet._

"You do have them. Do you even watch tv? You feel things as I touch you, Chris, that's not magic, that's lo-"

I quickly punch the angel in its ribs to shut it up. Crying in pain, he fell to the floor, covering the place I just hit. From the looks of it, I managed to hit an already fractured rib. "I am not weak, and love is for ze weak. Stupeed Christians" I say as I stand up. My heart won't stop racing, but I stand up anyway and finally make way to the kitchen and make a coffee quickly and devour some cookies while I wait. The angel didn't get up or out meanwhile luckily so I was able to get unto the balcony with my coffee and some cigarettes peacefully.

The angel leaves me alone, even after he gets up. I hear him leave my bedroom but as he doesn't come here, I just ignore him.

I'm still pretty much clueless of what to do. It suddenly sounded stupid to just resume whatever we were doing. But to stop was also bullshit. Even if I'd ignore the face it loved me. Even if I'd ignore the way that heaven-damned angel made me feel, he is an angel. He came from heaven. He had been kicked out, but he was from heaven. Where God was. He was God's direct minion.

But he deserted them. He deserted god and all his stupid powers for me. To not fuck up my life anymore. He said he would be mine. He gave his word. But I don't want him. I don't. I hate him. I sharply inhale another puff of my cigarette to get my mind straight again. I'm still certain there is some fucking curse on my body.

Fighting my curse hurt, and was mostly futile. Giving in meant that I gave up to god, or one of his minions. Though I'm certain I would be allowed to keep doing my work if I gave in. Maybe the best thing to do was to ask.

If he would stop me from doing my work now, I'd kill him.

He said himself he would go to hell with me eventually, so that means he is mortal. I'd gladly kick him into the most depths of Hell itself if he would be a bother.

A part of me wished that wouldn't be necessary.

Though I had already finished my coffee a long time ago, I stayed outside, smoking. I could smell the angel's cooking at a certain moment, but I decide to wait until he was done before getting inside again. The angel had made some simple pasta. I silently sit down on my usual place on the table, and he sat on Gregory's place. It was like 11 in the evening, but neither of us had eaten for some time, so fuck that. We silently ate his pasta, which was really delicious. Another proof that he was an angel, British cannot cook. But he could, he was great.

"Angel," I say, my accent twisting it so it sounds as if I said 'English' in French. He was English too anyway. Though he did understood I intended to call him angel, so he sniffs arrogantly. "Will anyzing change now? I mean, will you still 'elp me wiz ze jobs?" He nods tiredly while he kept on eating.

"Wine?"

"What for?"

The angel sighed and just shut up again. He stands up, probably to get his wine, while I sink even further into my chair, trying to digest the food in front of me, but I couldn't really swallow anything more. I still hadn't eaten very much. Stupid curse.

Some expensive bottle of white wine we probably earned with one of our jobs in his hand, the angel walks back to the kitchen table. He gracefully sits down and fills his own glass with wine and once again asks me if I really don't want any, and again I decline. Eating is hard enough for me. He slowly sips his wine while he studies the way I am struggling with my food. I wanted to yell at him that he wasn't really helping by staring like this, but there was a too large chunk stuck in my throat. Besides, I actually didn't dare to do so with his sneering look right now.

We stay like this for a long time. Me trying to eat the damn food, as my stomach was begging for it, but my throat thought otherwise. He sipping the wine continuously. He refilled his glass multiple times, and more than an hour had passed already. The angel's eyes left me alone more and more as he looked through the room absentminded. He suddenly got up as he had already drunk the whole damn bottle of wine. I don't doubt to run out of the room while he was away and I run back to the bedroom. I again steal all of the normal sheets and embrace them aggressively. I felt awful.

I could end this all.

I can.

My hands are shaking but I still reach out to the nightstand and I grab the gun lying on top of it. We kept guns shattered across the house because I intend we do. It had never been necessary that we kept them, but better safe than sorry. I never held a gun this unsure before. I hold it with two hands and take a few deep breaths before I feel certain enough to move. I never felt anything like a pressure resting on your shoulders, up until now. As if 20 large sacks filled with sand were hanging around my neck. My knees feel truly weak. But I'm a mercenary, and I can end this with my own hands. I can. I must.

The angel and I return at the same time in the room. He holding a new bottle of wine, me holding my gun, pointed at him. "You're mortal." The words leave my mouth uncontrollably as I keep focused on the gun in my hand. I'd better not let it slip.

The angel's eyes widen slightly, he was too tipsy to react to my satisfaction. "Think, please-"

"See ze one who's talking, you've drunk a whole fuckeeng bottle wine already."

"You're mad because I drink?"

"Non, because you're an angel." I say simply. I see his fear and it both pleases me, and makes me want to throw the gun away and hug him at the same time. "I am not bowing down to anyzing related to god. I'll prove it-" I still choke on my words, I couldn't say 'kill you' to my old best friend. "Like zis" I say in the end.

The angel was possibly trembling as much as I was. He slowly put the bottle of wine on the table next to him, his other hand held in the air, before getting on his knees and putting both his hands behind his hands. "Please, why don't you trust me anymore?" his eyes staring half-lidded into the carpet.

"I- I- You do zis. You're presence, it does somezing." I say, it costs me unusually much power to keep my aim fixed.

"Christophe, will you let me-"

"Shut ze fuck up, angel!" I snap, his begging voice, again, I don't want to hear it.

The angel let his shoulders fall down slightly and closed its eyes. I hear it sigh. The gun in my hands slowly fell down. My body was aching too much to aim properly. But I'd lose this fight if I didn't shoot. I have to shoot. I must shoot.

I unwillingly close my eyes and try to re-aim at the same time and shoot. Directly after the shot the gun drops to the ground and an immense pain hits me as well, as if I was being eaten and the thing was nibbling my upper chest. My eyes shoot open sacredly and I hear Gregory cry out in pain. His already blood-stained bandaged body was leaking blood again from his right shoulder. I am somewhat happy I didn't hit him left, close to his heart.

On my own, my body runs to the kitchen to grab whatever I needed, including towels to stop the bleeding for now. When I return, Gregory isn't sitting in the middle of the room anymore, but instead leans against the wall so he doesn't have to support himself. I take of the shirt he was wearing to give myself better access to his bleeding shoulder. The blood was pouring out rather quickly, but not bad enough to make him die of bloodloss. Probably.

"'ow much blood did you lose in Salt Lake City?" I ask without thinking.

"Just fucking shoot me in the head in you want me dead, French piece of shit"

That was his I-just-drunk-a-bottle-of-wine-and-am-dizzy-of-bloodloss-voice and –speech. With just a little bit of alcohol he carelessly took my habit of cursing. But I can see he is in pain. A hell lot of pain.

"I don't want you dead." Keeping the towels to absorb blood in place with one hand, I carefully took off the bandages covering most of his chest.

"I didn't lose much back then, just a lot of bruises, scratches and two deep cuts which needed stitches. They helped me really quickly though" The words left his mouth carelessly, they rolled of his tongue as if he didn't really care, as if he just wanted to get rid of everything in the world. He didn't just feel like dying, because he would want a more glorious death. He cared about his death. Usually.

"Get yourself togezer." I order him, my free hand caressing his harassed chest. I wonder what the fight was like. I slightly calmed down once again. "I 'ate you."

"Grab that fucking gun then. Come on, grab it. I'm not stopping you." His blue eyes pierced into my brown ones. They were so damn gorgeous. And dangerous. As was he himself. He was able to be the perfect human trap if he wanted to be. He had been a trap more than once, those were his only other solo jobs, though I always stayed around to check if it went alright. He would dress up, he even crossdressed in rare occasions to lure our target. Sometimes it took him more than a few nights whoring out before he was able to find our prey, but once he had made eyecontact with his prey, our success was already sealed. He would get as close as making out, sometimes even having to do it and waiting until they were asleep, but as soon as a gap opened, he took the chance and managed to wrap the job neatly with a quiet shot pushed against the bed. He was almost too good in those jobs.

"I said I don't want you dead. I just 'ate you."

"Oh yes, go torture me. Hey, I'll tell you where you can get our money; just kill me after that okay? I don't like the foresight of torturously slowly dying with you breaking me apart completely. There's most of our money we made-"

My hands never left his chest. I hate the sight of his chest like this. I hate his voice. I hate his attitude. I hate his skillfulness. I hate the way his heart keeps pumping. I hate that his blood tastes like any other, not special like I expected an angel's blood to taste, I hate how his breathtaking lips drew mine closer, I hate his lies that he didn't put a spell on me to lure me closer.

"Gregoree"

I once again pull his body closer, making sure the towels keep absorbing the blood, and making sure he was unable to speak anymore as our lips locked unto eachother. I don't know what I was doing. But it felt good. It felt fucking good, I goddamn needed this good feeling. I need to feel Gregory, I need to absorb his mouth, I need to control him. It felt so fucking good.

Gregory moaned loudly and tried to push me off, I don't feel like fighting anyway so I just stop. "You say you hate me? Then you kiss me? Just fucking kill me, jerk!" he tells me through his perfect gritted teeth. I just look at him silently. I don't want to kill him. I unusually careful pull the towels away and start to take care of the wound I had inflicted on his beautiful body myself. "Really? Are you fucking bloody serious? I don't want to Christophe! Just let me fucking go and fuck fuck fuck" Gregory screamed out again as I cleaned his wound. It struck me unusually much how bad he was doing. He always kept quiet through pain, he never cursed this much, or was this hopeless.

I just silently keep on my relatively poor attempts into fixing Gregory's wound on his shoulder. Though I did got it right in the end, which took pretty long. Gregory's crying didn't make it easier for me as well.

I hate him crying too.

I afterwards turn to his chest and arms to clean everything and give him clean bandages. He'd been jerking around and calling me things he never called me before. Exhaustedly. Halfway through, he falls asleep against the wall.

He must be the most miserable angel ever.

Well that's definitely his own fault.

He wants to be there for me so badly himself, I never (directly) asked him to stay.

Why did he ever sacrifice his whole being for someone like me anyway?

I carefully pick him off the ground, I'm surprised I still can pick someone of this size up (Gregory wasn't small.) I take him back to our bed and wrap us both in the blankets. Yes, us. I didn't leave his side during the night.

I hate him when he makes me dependant on him.

I eventually let myself being calmed down by my angel. He had put a spell on me. He finally admitted it. But he promised me everything, he would give me everything, we still kept on living the way we did before, we kept doing our jobs, everything stayed mostly the same. But the spell forced me to watch Gregory's back better than before. Staying close with him, made the spell pretty good bearable. It might even be pleasant for both of us. Gregory's spell was one of heaven, so it didn't mean to hurt. Like everything (successfully) made by god (that excludes my own existence) it all had to do with fucking love. Gregory even referred to the spell itself as love. He admitted he put the spell on me, which did help me to calm down and to accept it.

I eventually even admitted to Gregory himself, that he was the only thing I loved by god's hands. And I was okay with it. That motherfucking angel was a heaven-blessed kisser. He was _my_ angel.

Did I say that he was the only thing I loved by god's hands?

I mean the only thing I love in general.


End file.
